


A Splash of Colour

by Remy_Writes5



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, John's Red Pants, M/M, Mystery, Porn, Red Pants, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remy_Writes5/pseuds/Remy_Writes5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock finds a strange item in John's dresser, he tries to discover where they came from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Splash of Colour

          

             Sherlock needed dust particles. That's how he found himself in John's room trying to recreate the outfit the doctor had worn the day before. He had his gloves on so as not to disturb anything as he went through John's dresser. He started with the first drawer and found nothing but pants. 

            He was about to close it and move on to the next drawer down when his eyes flickered to the corner. A small bit of red was peaking out amongst the drab colours of John’s underwear. Sherlock stuck his hand in and came out with a pair of red pants dangling from a single finger. They were such a strange item that Sherlock couldn’t help but stare.

            Lost in a sort of trance-like state, Sherlock barely had time to register John’s footsteps on the stairs. Panicking, Sherlock shoved the pants back in the drawer and slammed it closed. He contemplated making a mad dash to hide under John’s bed or in his closet.

            John had expressly forbid Sherlock from entering his room ever since the bathtub incident. It had included Sherlock testing a substance that ate through floorboards. He was testing how fast it worked and used John’s closet floor for its prime location of being positioned right above the bathtub, where he could time how long it took for a piece to begin falling. Once it had, he could easily collect the corroded bits to study.

            John, however, had only seen a giant, gaping hole in his closet floor. Since then he had told Sherlock never to come into his room unless asked. Sherlock had been good about this for the most part.

            “What are you doing?”

            “Nothing.” Sherlock shrugged and did his best not to look down at his feet.

            “Sherlock, we had a discussion about going into my room.”

             “I remember.”

            “Then why are you in my room?”

            “It’s for the case John.”

            John groaned and rubbed the heel of his palm into his eyes.

            “I just need the jeans you were wearing yesterday.’

            “Why?” John eyed his flatmate suspiciously. “What are you going to do to them?”

            “Collect dust particles.” Sherlock felt a slight sting from John’s distrust. Then again Sherlock couldn’t exactly say John didn’t have a reason for it. “And whatever pair of pants you were wearing, there might be some there as well.”

            “Fine. “ John made a resigned sort of and shook his head slightly as if he couldn’t believe what he was about to do. Sherlock found this rather odd since this was hardly the strangest thing Sherlock had asked of him. “But as soon as you’re done with them you have to give them back.”

            “Yes, obviously.”

            “And if you ruin them you will buy me new ones.”

            “Yes, all right.” Sherlock promised impatiently.

            The moment John opened the top drawer; Sherlock’s eyes went to those damn red pants. They sat on top of the others accusingly and Sherlock chastised himself for not putting them back properly.

            “Were you pawing through my underwear?”

            Sherlock winced slightly. This was going to be difficult to explain.

            “Certainly not!”

            “Really?” John put his hands on his hips and they stared at each other for a few intense moments until Sherlock looked away. “So if you didn’t touch them, why is a pair I know were shoved at the bottom suddenly on top?”

            “I was looking for the items I mentioned.”

            “Sure you were, you pervert.” John put the red pants back in the corner and grabbed a pair of grey ones from the front.

            “John, I wasn’t –“ Sherlock stammered, hating the way he could feel his cheeks heating with shame.

            John turned away from him but not before Sherlock saw the grin adorning his face.

            “You’re winding me up.” He stated, something in his stomach unclenching with relief.

            “Yeah, sorry mate, couldn’t resist.” John squatted and opened the bottom drawer. He grabbed the pair of jeans on top and handed them over. “I should probably start locking these drawers. Who knows what’ll happen the next time you decide to eye up my pants.”

            “I was not!” Sherlock shouted indignantly.

            John started to giggle as he rose to his feet. Closing the drawer with his foot, John took a moment to compose himself. “All right, you got what you came for. Out.”

            He ushered Sherlock out the door and followed him downstairs. They both went right to the kitchen, Sherlock sitting down in front of his lab equipment and John starting to make tea.

            There wasn’t much in the way of dust and he eventually ordered John upstairs to retrieve everything he had worn the previous day. John dumped them in a heap by Sherlock’s feet.

            With John’s entire outfit at his disposal, Sherlock managed to get enough dust to run the test. Waiting for the results, Sherlock couldn’t help glancing over at his flatmate. Those red pants wouldn’t get out of his head. They were puzzling to say the least and he couldn’t help wondering how John had procured them.

            John had caught him staring a few times and seemed determined to ignore it, at least until he finished his tea. He had placed his mug off to the side and sat forward with his elbows on his knees and stared right back.

            “What?”

            “Your red pants –“ Sherlock closed his mouth, unsure of how to continue.

            “What about them?”

            “They don’t seem to suit you.”

            “You’ve seriously spent the past fifteen minutes thinking about my underwear?” John snorted incredulously and sat back in his chair.

            “I’m intrigued. They certainly aren’t something you would buy for yourself.” Sherlock walked into the sitting room and situated himself in his leather chair, eyeing John carefully. “The rest of your underwear comes in three different colors, all the same brand. They’re cheap and practical. There are a few nicer pairs for date nights but the rest are the same.”

            “You’re going to deduce my underwear?”

            “It would seem so.” He replied in a clipped tone. “They’re nothing you would buy for yourself, you’re a creature of habit. They were a gift then.”

            “Yes.”

           Sherlock’s mouth turned up in a triumphant smirk. But he wasn’t finished yet. “The most likely person is your sister Harriet. She enjoys giving you things and I can tell from her comments on your blog that she’s a playful sort of person. She might have given them to you as a joke.”

            “It’s a good guess but no. Harry didn’t give them to me.”

            “Then who?” Sherlock frowned, disappointed at having gotten it wrong.

            “Why does it matter?”

            “I’m simply curious.”

            “You mean that you thought you were going to be all impressive, guessing who gave them to me, and now that you’re wrong you want to know the answer.”

            Sherlock tightened his jaw and didn’t dignify John’s accusation with a response. John chuckled and got out of his chair. “I’ll take that as a yes. I’m getting more tea, want any?”

            “Yes please.”

            As John walked back in the kitchen, Sherlock couldn’t help being a bit perturbed that John had read him so easily. It was usually the other way around. He supposed it came from living together for so long, they were bound to know each other quite well.

            John reached up to grab some more teabags. His t-shirt rode up and exposed part of his mid-drift. Just barely visible above his jeans were a pairs of black boxers. Sherlock tried to imagine John in the red pants instead.

            “Sherlock.” John called out, pulling him from his reverie. “Were you just staring at my arse?”

            “No.” Sherlock answered abruptly, not wanting John to get the wrong idea. But he had been looking, hadn’t he?

            “You were checking me out.” John turned and leaned against the counter with a smug smile. “You’re wondering what I look like in them, aren’t you?”

            “I think I’ll skip the tea.” Sherlock scrambled out his chair and hurried to the sanctuary of his room.

            John blocked his path and Sherlock let out a huff of frustration. “What?” he snapped.

            John looked at him through lowered lashes. “You know, I’d let you see me in them.”

            “Wh-what?” he stuttered in surprise.

            “I’ll make you a deal Sherlock. I’ll let you see me in my red pants if you can figure out who gave them to me.”

            “You realize that I solve mysteries for a living?”

            “Then it shouldn’t be any trouble for you.” John posed it as the challenge it was.

            “Very well. You’re on.”

            “Good.”

            “Any rules?”

            “Nope.”

            “Excellent.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            The next day, Sherlock made a list of everyone he could think that would give John his pants. Unfortunately, Sherlock hardly knew any of John’s friend’s by name, like his rugby friends. If it was one of them, Sherlock would have a hard time guessing which one.

            The list was quite short and Sherlock knew he needed more to go on. It was impossible to eliminate or add anyone to the list without more information.

            Sherlock had no idea why he was obsessing over it. It wasn’t something he would normally waste his time on. They were just a pair or pants. Just an article of clothing John owned.

            But that was it, wasn’t it? It had nothing to do with the red pants and everything to do with the man who owned them. John kept himself frustratingly covered up around the flat. Seeing him in just his underwear would reveal a tantalizing amount of John’s skin for Sherlock to examine.

            His prick gave a twitch of interest at the thought. And there was the main reason for his obsession.

            Sherlock had known for some time that he was attracted to John but he had a suspicion that he was beginning to care about him as well. He soon recognized it for what it was, that he was in love with John, and that simply wouldn’t do. John would never reciprocate his feelings so what was the point? Useless. So Sherlock had done everything to feel differently. Yet with this new red pants thing, it seemed he had not been very successful.

            He heard his flatmate ascending the stairs and tried to ignore the way his heart was pounding. He was thankful for John’s lack of observational skills. The likelihood that he would discover Sherlock’s attachment was very slim. Were he to find out, it would be disastrous.

            John opened the door and Sherlock did his best to school his expression. John smiled tiredly and went to make some tea. There were things about John that were utterly predictable. His after-work cuppa was one of them.

            He brought Sherlock a cup without asking, placing it in front of him.  Something on the screen must have caught his attention because he leaned over Sherlock to read it.

            John’s proximity made Sherlock’s pulse race. He smelled of disinfectant, London air and tea. Sherlock turned his head slightly and was faced with John’s throat, baring just the slightest tan. Sherlock watched as his adam’s apple bobbed when John sipped of his tea. It took all of Sherlock’s strength to stop himself kissing that throat or running his tongue over it.

            “Bill Muarry, Greg Lestrade, Mike Stamford, Sarah Sawyer, what is this?” John turned his face towards Sherlock’s, a quizzical expression adorning it.

            Sherlock cleared his throat before he spoke. His mouth had gone dry. “Just attempting to find the identity of your gift bearer.”

            “Ah.” John finished reading the list and migrated to his chair, cupping his tea in his hands. 

            “Are any of them right?”

            “Nope.” John shook his head, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

            “Are you sure you looked properly?”

            “I’m sure.” John’s smile widened, taking on an almost mischievous quality.

            “Is it someone I’ve met?”

            “Yes. I’m certain you’ve met them.”

            “Are you going to give me any more hints?”

            “Why should I?” John shrugged and turned on the telly. He then proceeded to ignore any other questions Sherlock asked. Finally the detective shut his laptop angrily, stalking into his room and leaving John to his show.

 

                                        

 

* * *

 

 

 

            I need clues John. Data. I cannot pull a deduction out of thin air. –SH

           

             _How disappointing. I might have to take away your Consulting Detective business cards._

 

            I don’t have business cards. –SH

 

              _Well I’ll print some up just to take them away from you._

You’re being ridiculous John. –SH

 

             _More ridiculous than you trying to figure out the origin of a pair of pants?_

I haven’t got anything else on. I just finished that jewelry theft case. It was the old women’s son. Very tedious. She cried. –SH

           

             _Oh human emotions! How dreadful for you._

_Sherlock?_

_I was teasing._

  _Oh come on!_

_You’re such a bloody child!_

            Yes, I’m aware you were teasing John. Fell asleep from boredom –SH

 

_On my way home. Anything you’re keen on for dinner?_

I’ve been craving you spaghetti bolognaise lately. –SH

 

             _Really? Not sure if we have everything in that I need. I’ll just pop round the shops. See you in a bit._

 Get an extra bottle of wine – SH

  

              _You’re not trying to get me drunk so I’ll reveal the identity of my gift giver are you?_

 I wasn’t before but I am now – SH

 

              _No getting me drunk Sherlock!_

           

             We’ll see – SH

 

              _No we won’t!_

 

* * *

 

 

            John did end up bringing wine home with him, some of it for the sauce. Sherlock poured two glasses and sat down at the kitchen table to watch John cook.

            John had his hands full cooking the meal but every time he passed the table, he would take a sip from his glass.

            “Are you really just going to sit there?” John asked as he bent down to get the pasta strainer from under the sink.

            Sherlock struggled not to look at John’s arse as he bent over. It was a battle he lost. At least he could blame the blush of his skin on the wine.

            “Yes.” He finally responded.

            “You could help.”

            “Dull.”

            John rolled his eyes as he walked past, carrying the pot of noodles to the sink to drain. “Where as sitting there doing nothing is so frightfully interesting. Lazy Bastard.”

             When the dinner was finished, they relocated to the sitting room, facing opposite each other at their joined desks. Sherlock decided it was a good time to begin his assault.

            “The red pants. Were they a gift from an ex-girlfriend?”

            John chewed slowly on his food to avoid answering right away. “No, it wasn’t.” John grinned and took a sip of his wine. “You’d be pretty screwed if it was though.”

            “How so?”

            “Sherlock, if you could remember the names of any of my girlfriends other than Sarah, I would be astonished.”            

            Sherlock conceded the point with a raise of his eyebrows and a shrug of his shoulders. 

            “You said it was someone I’ve met, so I’m inferring that you were given them after moving into Baker Street.”

            “Yes.”

            “Were they given to you by a female or a male?”

            "Not answering that. That’s too big of a clue.”

            “You’re not making this very easy for me.” Sherlock huffed in annoyance.

            “Not trying to Sherlock.” John shot back. “Where’s all your consulting detective bravado now?”

            Sherlock frowned, unhappy that a pair of red pants had him stumped. He also wasn’t enjoying John’s newfound smugness.

            “Don’t worry, I won’t be putting this in the blog.” John took his plate into the kitchen but not before giving Sherlock a patronizing pat on the back. Normally Sherlock would have been thrilled at such fleeting contact but in this instance is only angered him further.

            He stalked into the kitchen, grabbed John and spun him around. John gasped softly as Sherlock crowded him against the sink.

            “I guarantee you John Watson, I will discover the truth.”

            “Why is it so important to you?”

            “I don’t like being made a fool of.” John swallowed audibly but didn’t turn away. “You’re a mystery John Watson and one I intend to unravel.”

            “Really?” John wet his lips and Sherlock realized just how close they were. He needed to retreat fast.

            “Really.” He promised before backing away. Once inside his room, he pressed his back against the door and took deep breaths. He would have to be more careful in the future; keep a tighter lid on his attraction. He couldn’t afford slipups like that.

 

                                                          

 

* * *

 

 

            Sherlock had intended to devote all of his time to solving the case of John’s red pants. But Molly had a set of lungs and a spleen he could have. He set of immediately for Bart’s.

            By the time he got a taxi home, it was already dark out. His stomach rumbled as he thought of leftover spaghetti. Maybe John would make tea and they could sit together on the sofa and watch something. Sherlock already had it planned in his head as he stepped into 221, ready to convince John of his evening plans.

            “Oh Sherlock dear.” Mrs. Hudson walked out from the laundry room carrying her hamper. “Is John enjoying my present?”            

            “You?” Sherlock’s eyes widened. 

            “Yes. I ran into him in the laundry room and I couldn’t help but notice all his pants were a quite dreary colour. I thought he might enjoy something brighter. The next time I went to buy myself a dress, I saw those red numbers and thought they might do the trick. So has he put them to good use?”

            “I really wouldn’t know Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock thought of the pants crammed into the back of John’s drawer and doubted it.

            “Oh, I keep forgetting you two aren’t together. It’s such a shame really, you two fitting so nicely.”

            “Thank you Mrs. H.” Sherlock responded, kissing her on the cheek. He couldn’t stop the buzz of excitement running through his body. He’d finally get to see John in the red pants. He savored the feeling as he made his way upstairs.

            “Mrs. Hudson!” he yelled, bursting through the door.

            John looked up from the paper with an amused expression. “What about her?”

            “She’s the one who gave them to you.”

            “It doesn’t count if she told you.”

            Sherlock’s face fell. “You said no rules. Besides, I didn’t ask, she offered the information up freely. I win!”

            “With very little effort on your part.” John grumbled, turning to the next page.

            “I dedicated three days to this, what more do you want?” Sherlock flopped down on the sofa and blinked at John expectantly.

            “Why are you looking at me like that?”

            “I’m waiting for you to get changed.”

             "Right now?"

             "Of course."

            “Fine.” John’s fists were clenched as he got up and went to his room.

            Sherlock paced with nervous anticipation. It was actually happening, he was going to see John almost naked. He couldn’t let himself get overly familiar though. He would have to remain objective. 

            The moment he heard footsteps on the stairs, he stopped moving and held his breath. The second John appeared in full view Sherlock couldn’t stop staring. It was glorious and Sherlock was overloaded with information.

            The pants left very little to the imagination, showing the outline of John’s penis. His legs were muscular and dusted with light blond hair. Sherlock’s eyes roamed up to John’s chest to two lovely pink nipples that Sherlock just wanted to wrap his lips around.

            His eyes finally landed on John’s scar. He bit his bottom lip and dared to move a bit closer. Sherlock didn’t want to intrude on John’s space without permission.            

            “May I?” he asked, his hands outstretched.

           The tension in the room was palpable as John nodded and Sherlock came to stand in front of his flatmate. He ran his fingers lightly over John’s scar and noticed the way John straighten his back. Sherlock memorized texture of it, the way the skin was raised slightly.

           He walked around fully to admire John in his pants and the way they hugged his body. Circling back around to the front, he got down on his knees for a closer look. There was so much for Sherlock to read off of John’s skin, as if John’s flesh were a code only he could decipher.            

            He took a moment to look down at John’s feet before raising his eyes up. He was more than a bit surprised to see the bulge in John’s pants. Sherlock swallowed thickly and met John’s gaze.

            John’s breathing had become ragged, fists clenched even tighter and his face bright red.

            “Oh.” Sherlock blinked. “You’re aroused.”

            “Of course I am. Your pornographic mouth is right near my cock!” John shouted before snapping his mouth shut.

            Sherlock sat back on his heels and looked up at him. “My mouth is pornographic?” he asked wryly.

            “I didn’t mean to say that.”

            “Then what did you mean to say?”

            Sherlock got to his feet.

            “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

            “Are you trying to chat me up?”

            “No!” John blurted out. “No, I wouldn’t. I’m not. Unless…”

            Sherlock stepped closer, a small part of him beginning to hope. “Unless…” he prompted, his stomach clenching out of nervousness.

            John licked his lips and smiled up at Sherlock. He shortened the space between them, not breaking eye contact.

            “Unless you wanted me to.”

            Sherlock closed the gap between them, just brushing his lips against John’s, hearing his breath catch.

            “I want you to.”

             As the words left his mouth, it was like a damn breaking. They both surged forward, lips and teeth crashing together. They readjusted with less pressure. John was solid and warm and magnificent against him.

             John swiped his tongue over Sherlock’s bottom lip and his mouth opened willingly. John’s mouth was wet and warm, his tongue grazing over Sherlock’s teeth before finding Sherlock’s tongue and gliding against it.

            It had been a long time but he mimicked John’s movements, losing himself in the other man. Feeling a surge of confidence, he circled his arms around John’s naked middle and pulled him closer. John made a little hum of approval and brought his hands up to cup Sherlock’s face.

            Sliding his hands down John’s warm and inviting flesh, they came to settle lower, dipping under the waistband of his pants, kneading into the supple skin of John’s arse. John broke the kiss with a light chuckle.

            “You certainly don’t waste time.” John asked, burying his face in Sherlock’s neck and softly pressing his lips to the base of Sherlock’s throat.

            “I think we’ve wasted enough time, don’t you?” Sherlock murmured against John’s ear.

            “Yes.” John agreed, bringing his lips back to Sherlock’s and smiling against them.

            They relocated to the sofa, lips hardly leaving each other. Sherlock pushed John down before climbing on top of him.

            Pressing a trail of kisses down John’s chest, Sherlock pulled John out through the slit in the front of his underwear. John gasped and his head lolled onto the back of the couch. He seemed to realize Sherlock was still fully dressed and got to work on his shirt buttons.

            He managed to slip the crisp light blue shirt off Sherlock’s shoulder before Sherlock attacked him again. John’s head fell back again as Sherlock stroked him languidly, memorizing the shape of his cock. “Oh god.” John groaned loudly, lifting his hips minutely up into Sherlock’s fist.

            Sherlock was so fascinated with cataloging John’s noises that he barely noticed his own erection straining against his trousers. It wasn’t until he shifted forward to capture John’s lips again that he felt how truly uncomfortable he was. He reached for his zip but John’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

            “Upstairs.”

            “Why?”

            “Because I’m not fucking you dry on the sofa!” John tried to get up but Sherlock pushed him back down.

            “Hmm and why is you think you’ll be fucking me?”

            “Fine, you can fuck me. I don’t care as long as we do it upstairs.” John adjusted himself so he was covered again.

            “Very well.” Sherlock sighed. He would have happily stayed right where they were.

            Getting upstairs was a bit tricky as neither man wanted to part from the other for long. After a ridiculous amount of time, they managed to arrive at John’s door. John had managed to get Sherlock’s belt and flies undone and his hand shoved down the front of Sherlock’s pants.

            Sherlock moaned wantonly against John’s lips, his hands mussing up John’s hair. He kicked his shoes off and stepped out of his trousers as they moved closer to the bed. John sat down and pulled Sherlock to him. Slowly they moved backwards, John sliding on his bum and Sherlock crawling until John settled against the pillows.

            John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and forced him down against him. Sherlock gasped as their groins lined up. He undulated his hips, rubbing them together again. “Christ.” John hissed and moved his hands down to grasp Sherlock’s arse, pulling him forward to continue.

            “John.” Sherlock moaned against his neck, heat pooling in his stomach.

            “Fuck, Sherlock. I’m not going to last.” John warned, his face flushed and turned to the side to give Sherlock better access to his neck. Sherlock began sucking the inviting skin and John’s hips bucked forward, thrusting his clothed cock against Sherlock’s.

            Sherlock pulled back, needing a moment. He had to turn his face away because just the sight of John was too much, flushed down to his chest, his heavy breathing, his erection tenting his pants. John went through his nightstand and pulled out lubricant and a strip of condoms. He tore one off, placing it on the bed and then put the rest back.

            “Well?” John asked, spreading his legs as an invitation.

            “Turn over.” Sherlock thought it might be easier if he could actually see what he was doing. John complied and flipped onto his stomach.

            He pulled his own pants down and off, followed by his socks, until he was completely nude. He then pulled John’s red pants down just enough to reveal him but not completely off.

            He put the condom on first, before his hands got all sticky and made the task more difficult. Then he grabbed for the lubricant, pouring some onto his fingers. Circling his thumb around John’s entrance, he felt it slowly relax under his ministrations. His thumb just barely dipped in and both men made surprised noises.

            “Go on then.” John said, pushing his hips back slightly.

            Sherlock took a deep breath and removed his thumb, replacing it with his first finger. There was a little bit of resistance but he felt John consciously trying to relax his body and let Sherlock in. Trying to help, he began mouthing his way up John’s spine. John sighed and Sherlock’s finger went in smoothly.

            “There’s no rush.” Sherlock bit at John’s nape and John shivered.

            By the time John’s body had yielded to three fingers, Sherlock was aching for it. He stroked himself a few times to coat himself in lubricant. Any more than that and he would have gone off.

            “You want to keep my pants on for this?” John asked, getting up onto his hands and knees.

            “Yes.” Sherlock nodded and lined himself up. He pressed in as slowly as he could but John still hissed in pain. Sherlock retracted immediately. “What’s wrong?”

            “More lubricant.”

            With a bit more, his cock slid in much easier and he was enveloped in tight heat. He threw his head back toward the ceiling and groaned. He was fully seated, their bodies joined completely and Sherlock could hardly process it. He pulled back slightly before thrusting back in.

            “Fuck.” John cursed underneath him. Sherlock ground against him and a certain angle made John buck forward. As Sherlock gripped John’s hips and started fucking him in earnest, he aimed for that angle as best he could.

            He was rapidly loosing control of his body, getting carried away in the feeling of John’s body clenching around him. “Sherlock please.” John cried out and Sherlock had no idea what for. John grabbed Sherlock’s hand, bringing it to his cock.

            Sherlock brought the red pants down so they were just above his balls. He stroked him, feeling how much John was leaking. It couldn’t be long and Sherlock was thankful for it. His own release was coming much too quick.

            “Going…to…come…” John said through shuddering moans. Sherlock moved his hand from John’s hip and brought it up to flick John’s nipple with his thumb. John cried out and Sherlock found that he was deliciously sensitive there. His own movements had slowed as he waited for John to come. He shouted Sherlock’s name, followed by a mangled sound that got caught in his throat. Sherlock quickly pulled John’s pants up and he came into them.

            Sherlock pulled his hands away and John slumped down onto the bed. He followed him down and watched as John became soft and pliant underneath him. Sherlock braced his hands on the bed and started moving again, racing to his own release.

            Sherlock dropped, plastering his sweaty body against John’s. They stayed like that for a while, bodies still joined. “Why did you pull up my pants?”

            “Didn’t want you to soil the bed.”

            “I could have cleaned the sheets.”

            “Well now you’ll only have to clean your pants.”

            John snorted and turned his head to the side. Sherlock kissed his cheek and sighed contentedly. “Does this mean I’m no longer banned from your room?”

            “No.” John said firmly.

            “What if I’m in here naked?”

            “You may come into my room for anything and everything involving sex. Nothing else. That is the new rule.”

            “I can work with that.”

 

                                                          

 

* * *

 

 

            The next time Mrs. Hudson went down to do her laundry, she saw the pair of red pant’s on top of John’s hamper.

            She grinned to herself and started the washer. “It looks as if the boys have put them to very good use.” She was already making plans of what kind of cake to take them to celebrate. 


End file.
